Desert Dreams
by Pingpong
Summary: A stop in the desert results in some angst and a powerful encounter with god-like magic. Did it happen as they think it did? Character development. Revised 1/23, upped rating. One shot. Set in Guild Wars: Prophecies. Part of the Ai Sisterhood series.


**Desert Dreams**

Wind blew gently, pushing sand into gorgeous abstract swirls. Night had fallen and the team was camped on the lee side of a sand dune. It was surprisingly cold in the desert, and most of the travelers had turned in early, seeking the warmth of their bedrolls and the solace of sleep to pass the uncomfortable night.

Khora knelt in the sand near a fire, her arms plunged into the heart of it. It was well removed from the main campsite, tucked around the tail end of the sheltering sand dune; the light of it irritated some of the team. She was soaking up the strength of the crackling flames, relaxing into the rolling warmth that crashed through her and trying to ignore the similarity to another night in which she had done the same, months and a lifetime ago in the Breach north of Ascalon.

A wry smile twisted her mouth. At least this time she was not a prisoner. A small comfort, one that could not distract her from the fact her jailer that night long ago was still near, still holding her prisoner emotionally.

Mortimer Mortag sat some way away from her, cross-legged, with his upper body bent forward as he meditated. Or at least that's what she assumed he was doing; she'd never asked. Of course, even if she did he would only sneer at her and cut her self esteem to ribbons like so many times before.

Yes, she'd learned her lesson. Since their shared adventure in the jungle not weeks before, she'd stopped asking, stopped even talking to him. From the beginning of their journey, Khora had always felt something for the evil man; a draw, a compulsion to reach for him that had always taken every ounce of pride and restraint to deny. She didn't know if it was a blessing or a curse that what he'd done was so horrific that it helped her distance herself even more from the overriding attraction.

But even with her revulsion for his actions the thought of leaving him shredded her heart. It always had, even in those nightmarish early days when he'd been even more ruled by his lack of morality, lack of compassion, and she had been a hostage, an unwilling bit of chattel dragged along by him. Because of that soul-deep pain, she'd never tried to escape, never told Cyran or Elandra or even Chihiro that she hadn't started traveling with the callous man by her own choice. Unwilling to admit yet another failing of her character, she'd allowed them ignorance.

They had all assumed that Mortimer followed _her - _a laughable thought and one she'd never understood. Mortimer Mortag had never shown her anything but derision and loathing.

She'd broken from his company only once before and at his behest, driven away by his wish to complete a task alone as the others marched to Divinity Coast. Only the distraction provided by the guild who'd taken her in had kept her going, kept her sane. She couldn't count the times Von Fanel had found her atop the western wall of the guild hall, fighting the almost otherworldly compulsion to find the Necromancer and take up position beside him.

Mortimer rose to his feet in a liquid movement and strode past Khora, shattering her thoughts and bringing her back to the present. She froze like a prey animal in the face of a predator, anticipating his cruel tone delivering a biting insult. But he was silent, and she blew out a breath of relief as he swept out of sight, around the towering hill of sand; it was always a blessing when he passed over the chance to cut her down.

Recently he'd been letting more and more of those chances get by, seemingly distracted by something and she was exceedingly grateful to whatever had caught his mind so tightly. Mortimer leaving her be, and in fact disappearing for hours and even days at a time, was a startling change from the hovering, suffocating presence he'd been since the events in Dakutu.

She forced thoughts or Mortimer from her mind and focused on the fire instead. Fire was her element, heat made up the core of her soul, and while the cold didn't bother her there were times when she became disoriented, felt like the cold was attacking her. When she was too restless to sleep Khora found comfort in the flames. There was a familiarity there that soothed doubts and centered her again, like the caress of a well-loved blanket.

She was so focused on keeping her thoughts away from the subject of Mortimer she failed to hear him returning and so was startled when he suddenly towered over her, a dangerous and determined look on his face.

She resisted the urge to scurry backward, to flee from him. It was an instinctive response, one learned in the infancy of their relationship and it took a monumental feat of will to resist it. Instead, she steeled herself for the inevitable mix of emotions; she had sworn to herself she was done playing his games, done allowing him to control her. He'd demonstrated his true nature, the senseless violence and cruelty to her in Dakutu.

And so she stared up at him with a cool defiance even as her face flushed with the effort, not even breaking her contact with the campfire. Mortimer's nostrils flared like an angry bull, eyes narrowing even further at her show. Dark energy rolled off of him in waves, body rigid with tightly coiled muscles and Khora fought a shiver. She was no Mesmer, and that she could sense his rage so clearly meant he was far beyond anything she'd ever seen.

It should have frightened her, and it did to a point. But suddenly, jarringly, there was a confidence that filled her and overrode the fear. It was a familiar, comfortable confidence but one that she'd never experienced with him before; sensuality. Like a glass being filled with warm liquid, it was as if the emotions belonging to someone else poured into her, swamping her own feelings.

A flush of warmth suffused her, coiling in her belly and tightening as she stared up at him. She'd always been attracted to the man, but this was on a whole new plane of desire, as if it latched onto the existing attraction and amplified it to the point where there was nothing left in her mind but her want from the Necromancer before her.

In a brief moment of clarity she tried to dislodge the foreign influence from her; Elandra had trained her for a situation like this and she tried to dredge up the lessons. But then she noticed Mortimer had shed his armor sometime after the team had made camp. It was not the spell that swathed her that drew her eyes to the slightly open throat of his linen shirt and the skin there. It was purely her own mind that imagined laying a kiss there, but the spell took advantage and she was lost in the resulting surge of lust.

It would not be dampened, not even by the replay of the way he'd killed that man in Datuku without even touching him, peeling back his skin as he screamed from the pain, reviving him when he passed out from the pain so the man could experience every second of the agony. Not even the look of amusement on Mortimer's face as he'd done it, the expression of satisfaction, controlled the spell.

There was great magic at work here; she knew it as the moment gathered, a pressure on her body as if the air grew thick and heavy. Electricity crackled, sparking off her skin and the metal fittings on her armor, jumping from the tips of his shaggy hair. The fire roared unheeded under her hands, taking on a the green tinge of Necromancer spells. Mortimer's rage tempered as he stared at her, changing to something less frightening but no less intense and it stole her breath.

It was hard to breathe as the heavy air constricted her chest and she allowed her lips to part so she could drag air into her starving lungs, feeling her sense of self wash away in the face of magic.

Mortimer was reeling, a rushing sound filled his ears even as the confusion and anger swirled in his chest. He'd been wrestling with it for days, and had ignored it for weeks before that, but that didn't make it any more understandable. Maybe it was this blasted desert, the relentless heat that scrambled his brain like eggs on a hot skillet. Even as he glared down at the girl who knelt at his feet like a serving girl before a king, he struggled to rationalize his reaction, explain it away using an outside influence. It couldn't possibly come from within. It was unthinkable.

He'd shied away from the implications of ascension even as it was being explained to the group, sure that even as the others would be prepared for it by the challenges they would face in the desert, he would remain apart, aloof. Surely even as tainted as he was, an undead abomination, he was prepared enough for what they would face in that chamber. He could not be cleansed, but history had proven time and again that when there was a genuine need for power, ceremony didn't matter when it really came down to it, He had no doubts he would pass the test, but was equally certain he would not receive the so-called reward for doing so. But even though they'd only conquered the first mission, he'd felt the shifting begin within himself, far more drastic than the gentle rearranging that had already begun. It took looking back to the beginning of this journey to see exactly how far he'd come, but this, this shattering of his very self, was too abrupt to accept.

She'd stopped talking to him, after the torture session he'd carried out in the village square. The revulsion in her face, the fear of him, cut far deeper than he thought it could and it was a festering wound, raw and painful. He'd seen those looks on her face before of course, many times before, but those had been calculated incidents meant to remind her of his power, of the superiority he held over her and the threat he could be. He'd never consciously defended someone before, never made the decision to avenge a wrong done to an ally, and the reaction he'd received after doing so had actually hurt, especially since the trend of their relationship prepared him nothing less than her eternal gratitude.

But instead, she'd stop talking to him.

That set in motion a chain reaction within him, something he couldn't control though he desperately tried. He was furious with himself, and his rage at her knew no bounds. He'd considered killing her to see if it would stop the shifting he was feeling, the sensation that his mind was made of sand pouring through an hourglass - never stable, always moving and changing, driving him mad. There was no peace for him as he struggled even in his sleep. But he couldn't do it, couldn't even bring himself to attempt it and that only drove his anger higher.

The feeling of magic gathering around him did not help. He was granted the ability to sense magic, taste it, by his unholy transformation so many years ago and now it added another maddening force to the mix currently resounding through his head.

Later he would blame that final addition as his undoing.

Later he would use it to take the blame away from himself.

She stood in a fluid movement, fire trailing from her hands like brightly colored silk, fed by her soul and the supercharged atmosphere that pressed down on them, pressed them together. Her heat-cracked lips were parted, breath heaving but a peace in her face, a serene expression that was so bright it almost hurt. She'd decided to allow the magic to control her.

It was perfect; he could also blame her for starting the cascade that would be his undoing.

She sighed, closing her eyes for a lingering moment of time as another pulse of magic swirled around them and the fire she still trailed snapped and roared with it. The small sound pushed against something in himself, a rigid barrier of control that had existed there for decades, immutable as the finest steel. Like a master gem-cutter sighting down the tiniest flaws of a diamond, the sound struck at the restraint, enough to allow the previously unassailable control to slip. It was only a tiny bit, infinitesimal, but it was enough for the step forward, toward her.

She opened her eyes, ash-brown and gentle, head tilted back to see his face. He felt a giant next to her. Even though she was tall for a woman, she was so tiny when they were close. It was easy to forget just how much broader he was compared to her, how much taller when she was raging at him like a ruffled cat. But now, in this moment of time, pressured by magic and unknown other forces, she swayed into him like a sapling in high breeze, willowy and soft. She was wearing her choice of armor, so it covered every inch unlike Elandra's skin-baring picks, but he was still able to slip a thumb under the edge of the shirt as he grasped her hips.

For a moment, the maelstrom stopped, both internally and around them as his finger met her warm skin. A held breath, it seemed, waiting to see what her response would be. But she was given completely to the Power and melted against him, surrendering. He didn't have the presence of mind to thank the heat for making him strip off the heavy, stifling armor after they made camp and resort to a light tunic and breeches because she placed a kiss in the hollow of his throat; it burned like a brand. She was a living flame in his grasp, the true fire in her hands now extinguished in favor of the internal one.

From then on it was a dance, sighs blending together with the rustle of shedding clothes. He barely registered that they were pressed together, her skin hotter than the desert noon sun. She was so soft, responsive to even a light touch. He would always recall the sensation of sinking into her for the first time as she mewled, wriggling under him.

He could remember struggling against the hold the magic had on him, the haze clearing just enough for him to hold from fully settling between her legs as he attempted to regain control. He was appalled that he'd been brought so far beyond his strictly imposed limits. He was doing an admirable job for a man an inch deep in a woman, until she wiggled her hips upward and let a soft frustrated moan escape.

The restraint that earlier had slipped now broke completely and he snarled, gathering her hands easily in one of his larger ones and pressing them into the sand. She stared up at him, shadowy eyes wide and excited as he drove into her with abandon. Although she was no Mesmer, to absorb and exchange energy, she was broadcasting her pleasure to him, the excitement that consumed her. He took it hungrily, driving into her with more desperation as it grew to be too much.

She threw her head back and encouraged him with quiet sounds, the movement of her own body and the struggle to regain use of her hands; to touch him, he knew. But this, as in all things between them, was a power struggle and he would keep the upper hand. But there was one more thing he wanted from her, something he had coveted since their first meeting; her energy was intoxicating, wild and hot like her connection to fire and only more so now he had her under him, so near her release. Although he was quite capable of taking it without any physical contact he did not resist the urge to sink his teeth into her shoulder.

He was doubly rewarded as the energy flowed into him from the wound, feeling her writhe as the bite gave her the push she'd been needing. Khora quivered around him, shuddering as she breathed out his name. After that, he was undone. It took him by surprise; the feeling of her hands clenching ineffectively within his grasp and soft body rising up to press fully against him, combined with the taste of her energy on his tongue flavored with blood, blinded him with release.

He passed from awareness of the living world, awareness of her body bowed under him, transported to a plane of consciousness usually reserved for the most difficult rituals. He floated there for time undetermined, reliving the brief coupling a thousand times without any of the regret or rage he knew he should feel, would feel back in his own body. Although it would be extreme to say that each loop of the heated scene was healing - any more than a tincture of valerian could dampen the pain of a mortal wound - he felt a change in himself with each touch, each time his name was sighed into the desert air.

He spent a long time reliving those moments.

The sun rose on the party, but Erisi was already up and efficiently rousing the others. With assorted grumbles, they gathered around the main campfire, larger than the one Khora had communed with the night before, and had a hasty breakfast harried by the Sunspear warrior. They would be moving before the day's heat set in, headed toward the next mission.

Elandra padded silently toward the site of Khora's campfire. The smell of great magic lingered in the air, even a good distance from the site Khora had picked and so she mentally prepared herself for what might await her on the other side of the low dune. Elandra was a well rounded Elementalist, and had spent many hours studying magic before she'd even been able to attempt a spell. She knew what strange things could result from such heavy use of a fickle tool, and knew there was only one from the party who could call such a powerful spell from the ether besides herself.

Mortimer had not been in his bedroll that morning.

She frowned and quickened her pace. The Necromancer was an unknown quality, a wild and unpredictable danger to the party and he'd shown in the past he coveted Khora, was fascinated by Elandra's sister, although he thought he hid it well. Concern grew in her chest as the residue turned to resistance and she almost waded through the leftover magic.

Despite all the possible situations that awaited her as she rounded the dune, all the concerns and outcomes she had steeled herself against, Elandra Icebrand was not prepared for what she saw.

...absolutely nothing amiss.

Khora was curled around the ashes of the fire, sleeping peacefully with one arm tucked beneath her head. Mortimer sat a good distance away, legs crossed and upper body bowed forward as if meditating. Elandra was immediately wary of the man's presence so close to Khora, even if he was seated with his back to her and her sister, facing away from the sunrise that bathed the sleeping Elementalist.

Examining them both critically, she found nothing that would satisfy her concern, although the feel of recent powerful magic still hung heavy in the air. She was certain something had happened, but could not feel what; there was no specific flavor to the residue justa rapidly dissipating thickness to the air. She filed it away for later and moved to wake her sister, knowing Mortimer would join the group without her bothering him.

Khora was groggy and slow to start, subdued even after the party began the day's trek. The others put it down to the early morning and the cold, which sometimes put the young Elementalist in a mood, but Elandra knew better and watched both her sister and the Necromancer closely. However Khora did not acknowledge or speak to Mortimer, exactly as she had done since they rejoined the team some weeks ago. Except for Mortimer passing up a few prime chances to tease Khora mercilessly - which he still did on occasion despite her frosty silence to him - nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Still not fully convinced, she decided to put it from her mind for the time being in favor of more important dilemmas and drew Erisi into a discussion of tactics for their upcoming task.

Khora trudged alongside Winter, mindful of the Dervish's habit of swinging her scythe and grateful for the mindlessness of travel. She wasn't quite sure what had happened last night and was glad for the time to digest it. At once clear and indecipherable, a dream and the sharpest reality, it muddled her mind and rendered everything else fog-bound. Everything but Mortimer, for he stood out like a lighthouse on a stormy night, a beacon to set her compass by. A dubious beacon of uncertain character and slippery manner but he gave her a starting position.

She stole a glance at Mortimer, seeing him in a new light even if she wasn't sure she could trust what she remembered. He studiously ignored her, which might have been odd for him. She really _had_ been ignoring him since the Incident and couldn't tell. She only knew that he'd stopped cruelly teasing her so much, not if he'd avoided her so thoroughly.

The shallow bite on her shoulder throbbed with each step as the cloth of her shirt rubbed against it. She remembered that part of last night clearly, as if she never intended to forget it even as an old woman on her deathbed. But had she gotten it as she thought? The feel of his mouth on her skin, parting lips and the sharp prick of teeth swamped her and she stumbled, flushing, certain of her answer. She waved off Winter's mocking offer of assistance and trudged onward, mulling.

Another sidelong glace at the tall, white-haired Necromancer.

Despite the events the night before, Khora had not forgiven Mortimer his actions at Dakutu. She didn't know if she ever would. But she couldn't use the hostage excuse forever; she had split from Mortimer once before of her own will. She knew what the Necromancer was, knew his methods and moods and the extremes he would go to if it meant achieving his ends. She knew it was her fault, what happened to that man. She was responsible for his death as much as Mortimer and that was the reason she was so disgusted and furious with him.

Last night, some point during or after the surreal events, she had acknowledged that fact, even if she could not make peace with it. She faced head-on that she was aware of Mortimer's brutal cruelty, his lack of humanity for those he dealt with. She was not only aware of it, but allowed it to happen even as she tried to shape it into something less dangerous.

It had occurred to her that all these months that was what she had been aiming to do, even as she wasn't quite sure what she was doing. Now, in the light of day with sand trickling into her boots and the heat of the day already rising, it seemed laughable that she could make any impact on the callous man.

But she thought back to last night, or what she thought happened last night, and remembered the look on his face, the almost-tender way he handled her at the start as if amazed by the way she'd surrendered her body to him. Perhaps it wasn't all the magic's influence? What would it mean if it wasn't all her rampant imagination?

It didn't matter, she decided. Dream or not, it felt right somehow. Like a step had been made in the right direction down some unknown path. She who dabbled in elements, the primordial makeup of life, knew better than to question the gods. She smiled secretly and sent up a small prayer to Balthazar, and then, after a moment's thought, to Grenth.

She rather thought she felt an answering smile.

Mortimer stalked only meters from the slender Elementalist, aware every second of her movements. Never before had he been so focused on the girl, as if she occupied a place in his head now. He had in fact been meditating in the sunrise as Elandra had wondered, a deep state of prayer. He'd prayed to Grenth, thanking and cursing the fickle god all at once for the experience that had been forced on himself and Khora. He could see the touch of the gods as clearly as if they'd left a card, and he'd not decided if he was grateful of not for the intervention.

When he'd returned to his body, he'd been in the same pose as he was when Elandra had found him; he hadn't moved a muscle. The wild flavor of Khora had lingered in his mouth, and still did even as he watched Khora trip a bit in the sand, silently laughing at the girl's lack of grace. He was well versed enough in the arcane to not doubt the reality of the events he recalled, even though they'd both woken fully clothed and meters apart. But he had not communed with his god for simple gratitude. He was also seeking an answer to the unexpected feeling that filled him. No regret weighed his mind, no rage buoyed him up and into action as expected. There was only simple almost-peace, a sense of rightness that until then had been mere memory. Gone was the shifting sands of emotions, instead replaced by a simple certainty that unbalanced and steadied him all at once.

He watched Khora intently, although skillfully enough to avoid drawing Elandra's suspicious attention, and had an idea of where that certainty lay. It was starting to occur to him that he would eventually end up following the Elementalist anywhere.

Perhaps he would actually be rewarded after ascension.


End file.
